2213Art: How fares your grace, are you not shot my Lord?

2214Pri: No deare Artoys, but choakt with dust and smoake,

2215And stept aside for breath and fresher aire.

2216Art. Breath then, and too it againe, the amazed French

2217are quite distract with gazing on the crowes,

2218and were our quiuers full of shafts againe,

2219Your grace should see a glorious day of this,

2220O for more arrowes Lord, thats our want.

2221Pri. Courage Artoys, a fig for feathered shafts,

2222When feathered foules doo bandie on our side,

2223What need we fight, and sweate, and keepe a coile,

2224When railing crowes outscolde our aduersaries

2225Vp, vp Artoys, the ground it selfe is armd,

2226Fire containing flint, command our bowes

2227To hurle awaie their pretie colored Ew,

2228and to it with stones, awaie Artoys, awaie,

2229My soule doth prophesie we win the daie. Exeunt.

2231 Our multitudes are in themselues confounded,

2232Dismayed, and distraught, swift starting feare

2233Hath buzd a cold dismaie through all our armie,

2234and euerie pettie disaduantage promptes

2235The feare possessed abiect soule to flie,

2236My selfe whose spirit is steele to their dull lead,

2237What with recalling of the prophesie,

2238and that our natiue stones from English armes

2239Rebell against vs, finde my selfe attainted

2240With strong surprise of weake and yeelding feare.

2242 Fly father flie, the French do kill the French,

2243Some that would stand, let driue at some that flie,

2244Our drums strike nothing but discouragement,

2245Our trumpets sound dishonor, and retire,

2246The spirit of feare that feareth nought but death,

2247Cowardly workes confusion on it selfe.

2249 Plucke out your eies, and see not this daies shame,

2250An arme hath beate an armie, one poore Dauid

2251Hath with a stone foild twentie stout Goliahs,

2252Some twentie naked staruelings with small flints,

2253Hath driuen backe a puisant host of men,

2254Araid and fenst in al accomplements,

2255Ioh: Mordiu they quait at vs, and kill vs vp,

2256No lesse than fortie thousand wicked elders,

2257Haue fortie leane slaues this daie stoned to death.

2258Ch: O that I were some other countryman,

2259This daie hath set derision on the French,

2260and all the world wilt blurt and scorne at vs.

2261Kin: What is there no hope left?

2262Pr: No hope but death to burie vp our shame,

2 Make

2263Ki. Make vp once more with me the twentith part

2264Of those that liue, are men inow to quaile,

2265The feeble handfull on the aduerse part.

2266Ch. Then charge againe, if heauen be not opposd

2267We cannot loose the daie.

2270Esq. How fares my Lord;

2271Aud. Euen as a man may do

2272That dines at such a bloudie feast as this.

2273Esq. I hope my Lord that is no mortall scarre,

2274Aud. No matter if it be, the count is cast,

2275and in the worst ends but a mortall man,

2276Good friends conuey me to the princely Edward

2277That in the crimson brauerie of my bloud,

2278I may become him with saluting him,

2279Ile smile and tell him that this open scarre,

2280Doth end the haruest of his Audleys warre. Ex.